A Fool's Errand
by piperholmes
Summary: World War 2 AU-Nurse Sybil Crawley has spent the last year surviving the bombs dropped on London, long shifts at the hospitals, & the horrors of war, but now she faces the disgrace of returning to Downton a compromised woman. Tom Branson, recovering from wounds sustained in battle, has grown very fond of his nurse & is desperate to help. But will their impulsive plan work?
1. Chapter 1

**A Fool's Errand**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: Written as part of the Rock the AU, which for January was WW2. This was a drabble I wrote that was received well enough on Tumblr ( ) that I decided to add a few chapters to it. So this chapter was initially written as just a glimpse into an idea, which is why it just sort of starts and ends. But since I'll be adding to it, I decided to post it here. -As a side note I haven't forgotten about A Hard Sacrifice, nor will I neglect it forever. When the mojo returns I will update it! (Thank you for the encouragement!) AS usual, this is unbeta'd**

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_**London, 1941**_

He found her walking the hall of the hospital, her gaze distant, eyes red and glistening, her cheeks pale.

She didn't see him.

Clearly the letter gripped tightly in her hand had brought unfortunate news; as they so often did these days.

He didn't know what made him do it, she was clearly not in her nurses uniform, heading back to the dormitory, in the last few weeks of his recovery they had come to know one another, sharing in conversations, laughter, feelings and dreams, secrets, but he supposed she was that way with all her patients; giving a bit of sunshine in a dark world of war.

And yet he couldn't deny the way his heart beat faster, his lips curling up at the sight of her, his skin tingling, hoping her fingers would sooth his pain.

So, despite the awkwardness of their relationship, he called out to her; surprising them both.

She turned to him quickly, her hands moving to swipe away the evidence of her pain from her face, the wounded always so willing to hide the weakness.

Clearing her throat, she stood calmly before him, her voice even. "Branson? What are you doing out of bed?"

He gave her a small smile, warmed by her concern even amidst her own distress. "I'm suppose to be walking about," he reminded her, dramatically stretching his legs, working the muscles that had been so beaten when the ambulance he'd been driving had been hit by a mortar shell and flipped.

She nodded distractedly, Tom could see the skin of her throat tightening as she forced a swallow.

They stood silent for a moment, neither certain of what needed to be said.

"Are you…" he hesitated. "Is ever thing alright?"

Her nervous, humorless chuckle, a response born of nearly incomprehensible emotion, caused his stomach to clench.

"Of course," she answered brightly. "Nothing for you to worry about. Shall I help you back?"

He blinked at her, then shook his head. "I know…I know it's probably not considered proper, but I'm a good listener. Maybe I can help."

He saw her face begin to crumple, a fresh wave of tears coming before she pressed her lips together, forced a deep breath to regain her composure.

"That's very kind but—"

Impulsively he grabbed her hand, cutting off her words, as he tugged her lightly, leading her to an empty examination room, ignoring the shooting burn running through his leg as he walked faster than his limp allowed.

He shut the door, the bright white light of the noon sun filled the room, reflecting off the metal instruments, giving the room a false feeling of happiness.

Her eyes darted about, refusing to look at him.

"Nurse Crawley…"

Still she kept her blue eyes from him.

"Sybil," he tried softly, her name new to his lips but as easy as placing a final puzzle piece.

Her gaze collided with his, an energy buzzing about them as if the sound of her name had flipped a switch, filling the room with the constant hum of the electric lights.

"I've told myself and told myself that there is nothing between us, that you treat me just as you treat all the soldiers," he began, his eyes never leaving hers, even as his heart pounded in is chest. "But even if that's true, even if you've done no more than be the best nurse a lad could as for, I want to help."

He saw her begin to shift, resisting his attempts.

"Please," he said. "Just listen for a moment."

He saw her settle, her shoulders drooping wearily, surrendering.

"You've…you've grown to be someone I care about a great deal," he began. "You've given me the gift of hope. The things I've seen…"

It was his turn to look away. It was all too raw.

Her small hand rested against his arm suddenly, pulling him away from the horrors.

"I hope you will at least consider us friends," he continued, forcing the words passed the images of his former pals dead, blown to bits, crying out for their ma's. He forced his eyes back to hers. "Clearly something's upset you. Please let me a friend to you. I will help in whatever way I can."

Sybil pressed her lips together, hopelessness shining in her bright blue eyes.

"I don't thing anything can be done to help," she offered quietly, her fingers at her lips, forcing back the tears. He saw her hesitate, thought he saw shame.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered so abruptly it took him a moment to realize what she'd said.

Tom felt a slash of pain rip through his heart. He couldn't stop his eyes from falling stupidly to her abdomen, then her hand.

"Oh…I didn't…I didn't know you were married…"

She swallowed. "I'm not."

Tom forced his brow to stay put, resisting the urge to manifest his shock. "Oh," he repeated slowly.

He could only watch as she buried her face behind her hands, the crumpled letter still held between her fingers.

And it all made sense.

"Your letter. Has your…uh…the baby's father…has he…" he swallowed nervously before delicately asking, "died?"

Her bitter laughter surprised him, confusing him as he watched her hand fall helplessly to her sides before she balled the paper up into her fist.

"I was played," she said, her words sad. "I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted to marry me and when he left for war he begged me to give him a memory to hold on to and I believed him."

"I don't understand—"

"He's written to tell me he can't be a father, that he doesn't want to marry me any longer and that he can't even be sure the baby is his. It's his, I swear. He's the only man I've ever…been with—"

"That's disgusting!" Tom spat, his cheeks pink with anger.

Sybil stiffened at his words, wincing from him.

"No," he quickly amended. "Not you, never you love. Him. He's disgusting. To turn his back on you, on the baby. To accuse you of…to even suggest…" Tom's anger prevented him from speaking coherently. "My darling girl."

She shook her head. "I don't know what I'm going to do. My father is going to kill me. I begged him to allow me to be a nurse. You don't know…you don't know what it took to be able to leave his house, to come to London. To be free…and now I have to go back in disgrace and throw myself on his mercy. I'll lose my position. I don't know what I'm going to do."

They stood silent, each lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," Sybil said. "I didn't mean to unburden myself like that on you…I just don't know what I'm going to do."

It was the way her voice broke, shattering into a thousand pieces, cutting into him. He's always been impulsive; berated by his mother on more than one occasion. He'd joined up impulsively, moved by the plight of smaller nations being bullied. His time in war should have been lesson enough. Even now he could hear his mother voice in his head.

_"Tommy, when are you going to learn to look before you jump headlong into something?"_

But this was different.

This was her.

"Marry me."

"What?"

The words had shaken them both, but now they were said he felt eager, excited. He felt alive.

"People will figure out the baby came first, but surely your family won't cast you off forever if you show up with a husband. I'll give you, and the baby, my name."

"Branson—"

"Tom, my name's Tom."

"Yes I know." She gave a small smile of acknowledgement before sobering. "Tom, I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask," he pointed out.

"Fine, I can't expect you to do that. This isn't for you to fix. I've made my mistake."

"Except you didn't," Tom insisted. "At least not by yourself. This baby has a father; one who's not worthy of the title. I know I'm not much now, a broken soldier who will be headed back to the war soon, but if I survive this madness I'll make something of myself I promise."

"I know you will," she interjected quickly.

"Then bet on me. We can marry and I'll go back with you to meet your family before I report for duty in a few weeks. There's a very good chance I won't return—"

"Don't say that," Sybil interrupted, her face stern.

Tom took a breath. It was the reality; the reality he'd come to accept.

"Sybil, you and I know what awaits me. If my life is to be cut short then please allow me to do something great with the time I have left. And if I am so lucky as to return I promise to devote every waking minute to your happiness."

She shook her head. "I can't allow you to throw away your life for me. You hardly know me."

"It's true I don't know everything about you, but I do know you. I know your kindness, your passion, your faith and strength, your courage. And I won't be throwing my life away. I'm not being selfless here Sybil. I feel, I have very strong feelings for you. Maybe…maybe you could write me while I'm gone. I think if I had your letters to look forward to I might be able to endure this war. We can spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other."

"And what about the baby? Will you accept him?" she challenged.

"Or her," Tom smiled. "Any child you bear will be my child Sybil. On this I promise you."

He could see her waver, her brow knitted together as she considered his words.

"If I don't survive this war," he pressed, "then you and the baby will have the protection of my name. If I do survive and we find we don't suit then we amicably divorce."

Sybil's expression grew wary. "You're Catholic Tom, your faith doesn't allow for divorce."

Tom's face grew hard. "My _faith_ is between God and me, and right now I'm not too concerned with what He thinks. Besides, simply marrying you is cause enough for the church to frown on me."

"My father—"

"Your father will be angry, yes, because it will seem as if we'd anticipated our wedding vows, but—"

"No Tom, you don't understand, I can't promise that my father, my family will ever accept you."

He frowned. "Because I'm Irish or Catholic…or both?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, her back straightening. "My father is an Earl."

For the second time Tom was left speechless.

"Nurse Crawley is not the first title I've had," she said slowly, allowing him to catch up.

"You're—"

"Lady Sybil Crawley, daughter to Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham. That means you'd come back with me to the family estate in York."

"Estate?" he parroted dumbly.

"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought," Sybil offered sadly. "Perhaps you are regretting your offer. If I show up pregnant and having eloped with a soldier, there is still no guarantee they won't throw me out, and your sacrifice will have been for nothing and you'll find yourself burdened with a wife and child, a child who is not your own."

"I've already said if we wed, the child _will_ be mine Sybil."

Slowly he moved to her, taking her cold hands into his. "And I could never think of you as a burden. If your family wants to give you up, that's their affair, and the more fool they are. But I would never be so easily convinced. I believe a life with you is no sacrifice, but if you insist on calling it that, then fine. Just know that I also a believe a future worth having comes from sacrifice."

Carefully he slid one hand up her arm, the contact sending a shiver through them both, before coming to rest against her cheek, his touch light as his thumb stroked tenderly.

"I'm willing to give this a try," he whispered, "and if you are too then the rest is detail."

She blinked up at him owlishly, her eyes searching his, her fingers clasping tightly to his hand.

It was crazy. Truly it was.

But did that make it wrong?

She doubted her family would ever accept such a marriage. And yet, as she took in his earnest, sincere face, she felt her heart warm. It was true, they'd only known each other a few weeks, but he had listened to her, _really_ listened to her when she spoke of her dreams and aspirations. He'd challenged her on some of her beliefs, and happily accept any challenge she'd thrown in return. She'd never know such freedom, such liberation from the restraints of the expectations and limits of her position. Was that enough? She'd proven herself naive in matters of the heart. Was this another mistake?

No. This wasn't the same. She'd been lying to herself, trying to convince herself that the man her family hoped her to wed was the man for her. In truth she'd allowed him liberties in a hope to feel something stronger for him.

It was different with Tom. Easier. Exhilarating. It made her heart beat faster, her mind feel scattered and stretched, her insides tingle.

She was a fool.

And he was a fool to offer.

_"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." _

It was lunacy.

"My answer is…yes."

_to be continued_

**Thanks for reading!**

**I created a photoset to go with this story, if anyone is interested, it's on my Tumblr.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 2**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and comments! You people are marvelous for encouraging me! I'm sorry this is a super short chapter but this scene needed to happen and it could go into the next chapter but I wanted it to be a moment unto itself. I plan to post a longer chapter tomorrow or the next day that will pick up immediately after this one. Unbeta'd.**

To say the wedding had been small is an insult to the minuet descriptor. The two had snuck off one afternoon to the registrar and in less than 10 minutes, with two government works as witnesses, they'd become husband and wife.

Tom had worn his uniform, while Sybil had pulled out a rather fancy looking dinner dress. At his wide eyed expression, she had given him a shy smile, grateful Mary had insisted she bring at least one with her. She supposed she felt a little bereft at the lack of a wedding party. She wasn't one to expect lavish outpourings, but if she were honest, she doubted her dream wedding had included the balding gentleman who wed them, and the nameless, faceless witnesses. But war had changed the country, changed her, and while it was odd to have spent her childhood imagining all the faces of her family at her wedding, while the groom had always remained a blur, and to find herself now, surrounded by people she would never remember, yet staring at the defined features of her husband-to-be, she felt a strange calm, and all those imagings fell away. All expectations paled as he turned and saw her, his expression of awe more memorable than the grandest of nuptials.

They had both been so nervous, Sybil having been sick twice that morning, and once more one their way to the registrar's office. She'd flushed, mumbled something about the baby, and they both ignored the way they awkwardly stood apart. He'd been so subdued; Sybil feared he was regretting his choice.

But she'd been too afraid to ask, too afraid to examine if she'd feel relieved or bereft at the idea that he might call it off.

He didn't. In fact, he said very little—quite unlike himself—until just before the ceremony began.

"This isn't right," he said suddenly as they waited in the hall, causing Sybil's stomach to knot and twist in a way that had nothing to do with the baby.

He turned to her, making eye contact with her for the first time since meeting her in the back alleyway at the hospital.

Sybil forced her face to remain impassive, unwilling to give herself away.

"You look so beautiful Sybil…" he paused, seeming to search for the words, words she expected to politely and kindly inform her he couldn't follow through on this harebrained scheme, couldn't tie himself to her, a relative stranger, and another man's baby.

"Seeing you dressed so fancy, looking so elegant, I…you deserve so much more than to sneak off like a thief in the night. Are you certain you don't mind burning your bridges?"

His comment had been so unexpected it had taken her a moment to realize what he meant.

With a gentle smile she stepped close to him, breathing in the scent of his pomade, and carefully leaned against him, her hand on his arm as she balanced forward on her toes to place a kiss against his cheek.

She began to move away before thinking better of it, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against her, and staying pressed against him she cast him a teasing glance.

"You think me so posh as to give up my promise in five minutes flat?"

He blushed.

Her smile grew.

"I was no more allowed to choose the life I had been born into then you were Tom, and while circumstances may appear as if I have no choice now, that's not true. I took control over the direction of my life when I became a nurse, and I won't relinquish that, not to you, not to my family, not to society's expectations, not even to this baby. I am here, with you, because I chose to be."

She noted the way his shoulders lowered, his face relaxing.

Her face grew solemn, knowing she would have to ask the question she feared.

She wasn't a coward.

"Tom," she began slowly, her tone catching his attention, bringing his eyes back to her. "Are you sure? This has all happened so quickly, and standing here, knowing our lives are about to change forever, it feels so daunting, so tragically big all of a sudden...and, well, I just want to say that if this isn't what you want, if you've changed your mind I understand."

He stood silent for a moment, or a year, Sybil couldn't tell.

"I've not," he answered finally. "Changed my mind that is. I asked and I don't regret it. When I woke up in hospital after the accident I felt angry and alone, but now, waking up there each day is a gift because it means I get to see you. There aren't many as free as you Sybil, so open, so passionate, so full of life. Hearing you speak of going home, thinking of you being caged, ridiculed, scolded, it's not something I can just ignore. I know...I know you don't love me, and to be honest I'm not sure if what I feel for you is love or not, but I do hope that if we give it an honest go that love can grow between us. I have to trust that you feel _something_ for me; if you didn't care you would have told me no straight away. Only I fear one day you may regret your choice._"_

"I've decided to marry you," she answered firmly. "And nothing anyone says or does is going to change that. You say that I'm a free spirit, and I hope that I am, so I hope you grow to trust my decisions. If I wanted a grand wedding I would have forced the baby's father, but what I realized the day you found me in the hospital was that the wedding is inconsequential; it's the man who makes all the difference. And you, Tom Branson, are a good man."

She'd embarrassed him, could tell by the way his ears pinked and his eyes dropped from hers, and with a cheeky grin she again leaned forward, whispering in his ear, "And you look quite handsome in your uniform."

He'd not been allowed to respond, the pair turning suddenly when they heard their names called, but it was decidedly less shaky hands that clasped together as they walked towards their future.

_to be continued_

**_Thank so much for reading!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 3**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: Well this chapter didn't get as far as I would have liked (again) but this story is really writing itself so I bow to its control. Another short one, but the next one (hopefully) will be a bit longer. Thank you again for the reviews and support. I admit I get so silly giddy when I read the comments._ You marvelous people are more than I deserve! _(And of course this isn't beta'd.)**

**This chapter is dedicated to pointlessthingsispendmytimeon (Happy Birthday!) and gothamgirl28 (I hope your day got better!). ^_^**

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The sun shown brightly as they stepped out of the government building into the cold January weather. The now complacent, acrid smell of dust and burning assailed their senses but neither commented. The destruction of the great city, the death, the air raids, were a part of life now.

They had adjusted and survived.

As they walked slowly down the street Sybil noted Tom's limp returning, even as he tried to hide it.

"You've walked too much today," she offered quietly, realizing it wasn't just her role as nurse to make such an observation but as wife now.

He shook his head. "It's fine."

He hadn't brought his cane and wordlessly she wrapped her arm through his, subtly taking some of his weight.

"Shall we take a taxi back?"

"Back?"

"To the hospital, I thought…" Sybil trailed off, realizing she'd actually not thought about what would happen next. They were married. It was their wedding night. Did Tom want to…? She felt her cheeks flush.

Tom read her thoughts, his own eyes widening. "No, I just meant that maybe you'd like to eat a meal together or something…if you wanted."

"Oh," Sybil smiled, tension still gripping her body. "Yes, that sounds nice."

"I was thinking a pub, but seeing you now, maybe we could go some where a bit, well a bit nicer?"

Sybil's mind flashed to the ritzy places she'd visited in her youth, the flash and glamour, and wondered what exactly Tom meant by "nicer" but felt foolish and a snob and just nodded. "Of course, what did you have in mind?"

"Well Lyon's Corner House on Coventry hasn't been hit yet," he offered sheepishly.

"Sounds lovely." And it did. Sybil couldn't help the moment of panic as she considered the possibility of someone recognizing her at a more upscale place. She could only assume her family was going to struggle to accept her decisions and she had no desire to risk them finding out through gossip and malicious whisperings. Besides, she liked Lyon's. It was the first restaurant she had ever gone to where she'd paid for her own meal, with her own money.

The walk was longer than she expected and her mind swirled with the silence that had settled between them; where it had once felt easy, now felt stilted. She had a million things to say but could think of none of them.

Except one.

Her wedding night.

The awkward mistake she'd made moments previous replayed, and she realized it was a topic they hadn't discussed.

One of many they hadn't discussed.

She felt her heart race as she rehearsed what she wanted to say, going over the words, trying to find the best way to ask him what she needed to know.

"What is it?" Tom's voice invaded. "You've gone quiet."

"Sorry," she smiled, wanting to put him at ease, wanting to put herself at ease. "It's just a lot to take in."

He nodded, his fringe falling forward making him look younger, too young to be at war.

"Tom," she began slowly, the words she'd rehearsed fleeing the well constructed sentences she'd worked to create, leaving her hesitant. "Earlier when we, when I thought…well I realized we never discussed how married we will be."

She winced at the ridiculous word choice, at her own fears.

Tom's steps slowed but he gave no other indication her words had affected him.

She thought to say more, wanting to fill the silence, she was a nurse after all, she had learned the act of love making was a purely physical act. She couldn't understand her discomfort at speaking of the topic.

She struggled not knowing his thoughts.

Taking a calming breath she waited, squaring her shoulders, taking in her new husband. Seeing the way his fingers absently rubbed together, his lips pressed together, his eyes gazing off into the rubble that surrounded them.

She may not know his thoughts, but she did know his feelings; they mirrored her own. He was as uncertain and confused as she.

He stopped, turning to her, facing her. "I want to have a wife in more than just name Sybil. I'm sorry, I'll not deny it. But I won't ever pressure you. When the time is right, when we both feel ready, we'll take that step."

Carefully his hand moved up, his fingers stroking her cheek. Sybil felt her breathing speed up, her chest rising and falling as he stared into her eyes. He was going to kiss her.

He stepped into her, forcing her neck back so she could look at him, taking in his soft lips and easy gaze. He leaned forward, his breath warm on her skin. She felt her body tense, waiting for the wet onslaught. It never came.

He stopped, just shy of contact, waiting. His thumb continued a gentle stroke, and as they stood together, so close, she found her breath matching his in rhythm.

Slowly in.

Slowly out.

Together.

It was up to her to close the distance, to take that step.

She'd always thought him handsome, but never had she'd really taken him in. She could see the tired smudges around his eyes, the easy lines that creased around them. He smiled a lot, but not recently. The blue of his eyes was clear, almost grey, but they held a passion that burned brightly. She'd never looked to see, but in that moment, as he handed all control to her, she saw him.

And he was beautiful.

"Yes, you may kiss me," she whispered.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her chin upward, meeting his lips in a gentle, soft caress. They lingered over the contact, never truly separating.

Sybil moved, unthinkingly, bringing her own hands up his arms, coming to rest against his shoulders, playing with the material of his uniform, stroking his neck lightly.

She felt him sigh, knew he was enjoying the sensations, and welcomed the renewed touch of his lips against hers. Gradually he increase the pressure, further opening her lips,

This wasn't the staid kiss they'd shared in the registrar's office.

As his tongue met hers, at first fleeting and light, she was surprised to find she enjoyed the sensation, especially when his fingertips moved to her hair, his other arm wrapping around her tightly. It wasn't sloppy and hard. It wasn't at all what she expected, or what she'd previously experienced.

Her own tongue hesitantly moved, darting out to meet his and she felt a thrill as a shiver of pleasure traveled through him.

With renewed vigor his mouth worshipped hers, playfully pushing back, challenging her.

Delight flooded her senses as they sparred, each striving for the upper hand.

In a moment of surrender, his lips fell, is forehead resting against hers, both gasping for air.

"For now," he panted. "God knows it's enough that I can kiss you."

_To be continued._

**Thanks for reading!  
**

**I suppose it's time for Sybil and Tom to let their families know the happy news!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 4**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: All of my thanks and adoration to you, darling readers! Your reviews and comments make my day and a day spent smiling is wonderful. THANK YOU! One day I will write a chapter and get to where I wanted to go, but alas, this is not that day. Another short chapter, but I think I can update faster and more consistently if I write these smaller chapters. So we don't wind up the chapter where I hoped but I should be able to post the next chapter by Friday or Saturday, and hopefully you gals (and guys) aren't getting frustrated. Un'beta'd.**

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Following the kiss in the street, a sort of truce had been reached; a silent agreement that while Tom was still in hospital life would go back to what it had been, as nurse and patient, as friends. As they had eaten their celebratory meal they had discussed the next steps in their plan. Their union and her condition would remain a secret until Sybil handed in her notice. Tom was set to be released from medical care by the end of the next week and had been promised 5 days of leave following that release, but Tom hoped he could get that extended to at least a week in order to travel with Sybil to her family home and see her settled before he had to report.

"My C.O. is a bit of a wank…uh…jerk," he amended quickly, keeping his voice low in the busy eatery. "But he and I have always seemed to get on well enough. When I tell him I've married maybe he'll be willing to give me a few extra days."

Sybil nodded, her own mind spinning with details.

"I know you said you'll be a father to this baby, but—" Sybil struggled to phrase her question. "well, time wise, are you wanting everyone to believe the baby is yours?"

His brow furrowed as he tried to follow her meaning.

Seeing his confusion she explained, "I just want to be clear on what we are telling my family. I don't like deceit and my parents don't deserve it, but I also don't want to borrow trouble. When the baby comes…you have to understand, my family will not merely accept this. Expect to be questioned, particularly by my nosy granny, who lives for intrigue. If she gets a whiff of scandal she'll hunt."

Tom nodded, beginning to understand. "You expect the baby to be born in August?"

"Late July, early August," Sybil confirmed.

"Which means, forgive me for being indelicate, but means your…uh…you," he cleared his throat. "conceived—"

"About a month before I met you," she finished, blushing. "And if we are going to act like the baby is yours something has to be nudged a bit."

Tom thought for a moment. "I don't like the idea of lying either, I am this baby's father but I won't lie to the child, but I also agree that right now it isn't necessary to go about brandishing the details. I have a feeling we're going to be in enough trouble with your family as it is."

Sybil's sympathetic smile did little to calm the rush of feelings. He felt a fresh wave of anger at the man who had so readily and willingly abandoned her and her child.

"I say we keep it all as simple as possible. We can explain that we've known each other for months, which is true, and only if we are pressed will we admit to meeting a month earlier than we actually did. Will that work?"

Sybil nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry to say that your reputation may still suffer considering the date of the birth and the date of the marriage. It's not fair, but I'm afraid if we start weaving a long tale of falsehoods—"

She interrupted him with the wave of a hand.

"I understand." She slowly spun her cup, her food picked at as her stomach still refused to settle. "And what about your people? Will they accept me? The baby? Our marriage?"

It was Tom's turn to feel a bit of discomfort at the mention of his family.

"My siblings will most likely give me a hard time, out of love mostly, but my Ma is another story. She's not too fond of the English. She lost a cousin in the Easter Rising." At Sybil's sympathetic gasp he continued. "He was walking down North King Street one day, and an English soldier saw him and shot him dead. When they asked why he was killed, the officer said because he was 'probably' a rebel."

"That's awful," she said quietly, and Tom felt her sadness at his family's loss to be genuine.

"She's also rather religious. She's not going to be happy about our marriage, and even less so about the baby, but she's a good woman. She'll be upset, with me mostly, but she'll find a way to deal with it. She'll come to love you and the babe," Tom assured, but couldn't resist teasing her. "Eventually."

"Will she love the baby knowing that you're not the natural father?"

Tom paused.

"We won't tell her," he decided finally.

Sybil had accepted his edict, despite the uneasy feeling. It seemed the more they decided, the more questions that arose. Her queasiness returned stronger than ever, causing Tom to note her pale complexion, leading the pair to cut the meal short and grab a taxi back to the hospital.

"I'm so sorry," Sybil offered again, feeling truly crummy.

Tom waved her off. "I've not been married before or a father, but I've plenty of sisters and family to know it's not easy expecting a baby. Promise me you'll get some rest."

She'd nodded, giving him a smile and his hand a squeeze.

"I'm on duty tonight," she whispered as they stood outside the back entrance, hidden in the alley. "I'll…I'll see you tonight I suppose."

It felt so awkward to be discussing her nursing schedule for the night, the first night of their marriage.

"You know where to find me," he said plainly, the twinkle in his eye the only indication of his levity. She could see the tight press of his lips, the grimace in his jaw. His leg must surely be bothering him.

"Go put your leg up," she advised, assuming her no nonsense stance. "I'll go write my family, let them know about us and make arrangements for our visit."

Giving herself a task made it easier to walk away, to not think about how sad she suddenly felt. Just before she turned to leave she impulsively grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you Tom Branson," she said quickly.

She made to dash back but was caught by his hold. Carefully, slowly, he turned her hand in his, his long fingers stroking at the skin of her ring finger.

"I'm sorry I've no ring to give you right now."

Sybil shook her head, wanting to assure him it was fine, but he wasn't looking at her and the words couldn't find truth enough to move from her throat. It did matter. She couldn't explain why but part of her longed to see his ring there, to help her feel married, to pull her from the limbo she felt trapped by.

"But my promise is true," he breathed, placing a light kiss where a gold band should sit. "And as soon as I'm able to afford it I'll get a gold band. It will be simple but hard earned."

For a moment she saw her hand, weighted with a large, sparkling ring that women of her class expected and gushed over, and she hated it.

Blinking away the image, she met his blue eyes.

"I will wear it proudly."

_To be continued…_

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 5**

**By: Piperholmes**

**A/N: A million thanks and hugs and waves and kisses and snuggles and whatever else I can send to you darling readers. Your reviews keep me going! So onward! (As usual not beta'd...in fact wrote this while my daughter did gymnastics so I was half paying attention to wave at her and this so I apologize if this has a few more mistakes than normal).**

* * *

She had left him to make his own way back into the building, keeping her face turned, forcing herself not to look back. When she found herself back in her room in the nurses' dormitory she realized she had no memory of the walk she took to get there. Thoughts of Tom, of her family, of the baby, of her work, of _him_, filled her mind to the brim.

"You've been gone a while."

Sybil nearly jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Her roommate, Edna, blinked at her expectantly from where she lounged on her bed, reading the latest edition of _Vogue_ that talked about fashion in the New Year; fashion meets war.

"Yes, I met a friend for lunch," she answered, careful to keep her tone light as she played with the necklace around her neck. Sybil and Edna shared a lot of views, but ever since Edna had discovered Sybil's lineage things had felt off, different, more hostile.

"Must've been some toff with you dress up so. Tea with the queen perhaps?"

Sybil was no stranger to calm demeanor. She'd been well taught, well trained, to keep her emotions in check. She had learned the power in silence. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, her icy glare enough to send Edna into retreat.

"Your stomach feeling better then?"

Sybil resisted the surprise she felt rush through her, careful to keep control of her features. "I'm sorry?"

"You've been sick the last few days," Edna pointed out. "I was worried you might have caught something. You work so hard, I know you'd never want to complain or miss a shift. I was wondering if I needed to mention it to Nurse Baxter for you."

Sybil wasn't fooled by the sympathetic tone.

"I appreciate the concern," she answered. "But I believe it was just a passing inconvenience."

"Yes," Edna said slowly. "It does seem to come and go."

The threat was clear.

With her shoulders back and spine stiff, Sybil walked to the shared writing desk by the window.

"If you'll excuse me I do need to write my family."

Edna smirked but said nothing, her eyes moving back the material in front of her.

Sybil said nothing more as she removed her hat and coat before sitting in the hard chair. She opened the top drawer, pulling out her monogrammed stationary—a gift from Edith—and her pen.

And she sat.

The expanse of the blank page mocked her.

She couldn't think how to write what needed to be said. She thought of the way her mother would gasp, how her father would rage. How could she tell them what she had done?

Should she open the letter with the new? Perhaps the better idea would be to slowly work towards it.

_I am married._

Her breath caught and suddenly the pen seemed inadequate to the task. It wasn't right. She couldn't do this in a letter.

She wrote her family, telling them she'd be coming to visit soon.

She made no mention of her husband, her baby or her marriage.

* * *

Tom stared at the form, realizing there were questions he didn't have the answers for.

WIFE'S FULL NAME

He'd not thought to ask her middle name. He assumed she had one. Posh people often did. He wrote her first and last name and wondered if it was appropriate to put her title…he'd have to ask her.

WIFE'S BIRTHDAY

He looked up at the waiting lance-corporal.

"Actually, I…uh, I'll take the form with me and turn it back in tomorrow. Thanks."

The young serviceman shrugged; one less form for him to deal with that day.

Tom turned, his thoughts on the piece of paper in his hand and what it meant. He'd been married a day, a full 24 hours, but if war had taught him anything it was that time was finite. If anything should happen to him he needed to be sure Sybil and the baby would be provided for. That meant forms.

Lots of forms.

When he'd mentioned quietly to Sybil last night that he was going to make sure and name her beneficiary she had smiled at him sadly. It seemed so macabre to speak of death so soon after the start of a new life, but that was the way of things. She had fulfilled her duties as nurse, made sure he was comfortable, had his medicine, and is chart was updated, but he had felt her hand on his shoulder as he helped him to settle, lingering, the faintest of pressure, just for him. Her eyes warm as he felt her finger trace the outside of his ear, the most intimate they could be.

"Branson."

Hearing his name brought him short, his body stiffening.

"Sergeant," Tom greeted with a salute.

A nod from his commanding officer and Tom relaxed.

"Did I read this right Branson? You want to extend your leave?"

Tom ignored the abrupt tone. He knew most of the men didn't like the Sergeant, rumors that it was his connection to a duke that had gotten him the ranking position in the RAMC, which meant a lot of men doubted his qualifications, but Tom had never had an issue. He knew the man could rub people the wrong way but Tom had kept his head down, done his duty, and there had been no problem.

"Yes sir," he answered clearly.

"You don't think three months in hospital is enough of a vacation?" The cigarette dangly out of his lips bounced with each word, seeming on the precipitous of falling to the floor at any moment.

Tom tensed. "With respect sir, having my leg nearly blown off hasn't seemed like much of a vacation."

"Well it's good to see you've recovered well enough."

"Yes sir."

"Now, why should I give you time off while other men are being useful to king and country?"

"Actually sir, I wouldn't be asking if it weren't for the fact that I've recently married." Tom paused, allowing the news to sink in. He wasn't expecting any form of congratulations and his suspicions were met when he received no more than a raised eyebrow. "And her family lives up in North Yorkshire, and I've yet to meet them. I was hoping for a few days with them and her before going back."

"The preacher's noose huh?" His sergeant chuckled. "I spent years in that area. Anyone I know?"

Tom hesitated. Sybil wasn't some villager, her family _owned_ a village.

"I'm not sure…"

His words were cut off as the sergeant reached out for the form Tom was holding.

"Let's see…Sybil Crawl—"

Tom felt his stomach drop as recognition flooded his sergeant's eyes.

"You haven't? You haven't married Lady Sybil Crawley?"

Tom couldn't tell if the man was shocked or delighted.

"I have."

"And her family knows this."

The Irishman shifted uncomfortably. "They will soon enough."

A smirk appeared, humorless, menacing. "This was sudden. You've not got her up the duff have you?"

His face gave him away, his cheeks pinked, flushed with indignation and frustration.

"I'm not sure it's any of your business…sir."

But it was too late. The words did little to convince the sergeant.

"Lord Grantham's Irish son-in-law, Irish grandchild, and he has no idea…" the words were said to himself, a noticeable pleasure. He took a long drag on his fag, handing the form back, blowing smoke around them. "Well from what I've heard Lord Grantham is a good man, and a decent employer. Tell you what Branson, I'll see what I can do to get you that extra time off. Consider it a belated wedding present from me to your new family."

With a heavy feeling Tom nodded. It was clear something was off. The sergeant's behavior, his demeanor had shifted so dramatically, his amusement at the situation made him uncomfortable.

"Thank you Sergeant Barrow. I appreciate the help."

With one final smirk he answered, "My pleasure."

_to be continued..._

**Thanks for reading!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**A Fool's Errand**

**Part 6**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: So sorry for the long delay in updates! But this one is twice as long as the others and it's part 1 of a two part update, so maybe that makes up for it a little bit? ^_^ Thank you for the wonderful, sweet and encouraging reviews! As I said this is the first half of the update. This chapter was getting so long and I felt like I was never going to get it done so I broke it up into two. I'm really excited for the next chapter so hopefully it won't take me so long to get it posted. Sorry again! Unbeta'd.  
**

* * *

"Well it seems you're healing up nicely Private," Dr. Turner noted, making quick work of scribbling a few words to Tom's chart. "I will sign off on your release back to the RAMC. Try to stay out of the way of the enemy's artillery this time, eh?"

Tom smiled, grateful for the joke, as morbid as it may seem. The world was slowly imploding and the only recourse was laughter.

"Do you still want him on the daily walk regiment?" Sybil asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary," the doctor answered, eyeing the young nurse. "He's up and about most of the day on his own, no need to force the issue anymore."

Sybil nodded, turning back to smile at Tom.

Despite the pleased look on her face, Tom couldn't help but note how pale she looked, how tired and drawn. He wasn't the only one to take notice.

"I say, are you feeling well Nurse Crawley?"

"Of course doctor," she answered easily, quickly.

The doctor's gaze seemed to linger, a well-trained eye taking in details missed by most. He seemed either to accept her declaration, or decided the topic needed no further exploration in front of another patient, because he said nothing further on the subject.

Instead he instructed, "We will cut Private Branson's pain medicine in half starting today. I'll check back in three days, and we should be able to discontinue all together."

Tom gave an exaggerated groan. "Aw but doc, Nurse Crawley bringing me my meds is the best part of my day."

Dr. Turner smiled. "I have no doubt.

Sybil's stern expression cause Dr. Turner to somber some. "Right, well then, carry on. Nurse Crawley, if I may see you a moment."

Tom watched the pair move away. In the past few months, as he'd come to know Sybil, he'd learned how passionate and open she was, especially when it came to certain causes, politics, or helping others, but he's also learned that even that was controlled. Sybil gave nothing away when she chose; she gave everything away when she chose. Her eyes burned bright as they had sat and discussed the core beliefs of socialism, and how greed bastardized the concepts, turning socialism into a dirty word. Yet he'd met a brick wall when he had asked about her childhood. Of course, this was before he knew who she was, and he understood why she was so hesitant to speak of it, but he remember that at the time he'd been surprised at different she'd been, two Sybils.

Something in her face as she'd turned to follow the doctor had reminded him of that cold, collected Sybil, and he felt a moment of unease. That unease grew as he watched Dr. Turner motion for the Head Nurse to follow him.

Sybil glanced over her shoulder, her eyes catching his, just before the trio stepped out of the busy hospital floor and out into the hall.

Something told him their night on the town was finally catching up to them.

* * *

**_Two Day Ago_**

The music blasted around them, making conversation difficult but not impossible, few were interested in talking about anything important so shouting over the music just added to joviality. The war was all around them, but in this small, hot, dance hall (one of the last ones still open at night due to the blackout), it was easy to forget for just a moment and have fun.

Sybil sat with some fellow nurses, slowly spinning her cup of warm, watery lemonade, a smile plastered to her face as she nodded mindlessly to the gossip flying around her. She regretted coming, wishing to be back in the dorms, buried beneath her blankets and blissfully asleep. The symptoms of her pregnancy were going more and more aggressive each day. The smells of the hospital had become so heightened, sending her in a spin of nausea, forcing her to spend the majority of her shift fighting the urge to be sick. By the end of her rounds she was so exhausted she could barely manage much more than a few pages of a book before falling fast asleep, usually sleeping through dinner into the morning where the routine all began again. She didn't even have the energy to care about Edna's knowing smirk or sly comments about girls "being in trouble" these days.

But when Tom had pinched the elbow of her uniform, gently tugging her into a private corner and smiled down at her, asking her if she wanted to join the small group of soldiers and nurses that had invited him to come dancing, she hadn't been able to say no. Who knew how many nights of dancing the war would afford? Not to mention the way Tom had bounced about as if it were Christmas morning as he laughingly promised to keep his hands respectful, but made no promise he wouldn't ask her to dance a hundred danced with him had warmed her, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

But here she sat, while the soldiers all seemed to mill about together by the bar. The two groups had arrived separately, and shy giggles and coy smiles meant it was going to be a long night for Sybil. Her only incentive to stay was the way Tom would catch her eye and smile at her, making his own frustrated expressions. She knew it was silly, but when one is hiding something, even the small seems big, and she feared if she were the first to break ranks, to go ask him to dance then everyone would know. Somehow they would all figure out their secret. Clearly Tom agreed as he impatiently waited for one of his comrades to be brave enough to get the dancing started.

"I think he fancies you."

"What?" asked Sybil, not sure if she'd heard correctly.

Gwen smiled, her cheeks bright pink against her pale complexion, as they always were when she was overheated. "I think he fancies you," she repeated a bit louder, her eyes staring pointedly at Tom, who realized he'd been caught staring and quickly dropped his gaze.

Sybil nearly laughed at his lack of tack before she remembered she was suppose to be embarrassed.

"Oh, do you think?" she asked quickly, hoping her voice portrayed the perfect amount of silliness and excitement.

"I don't think he can keep his eyes of you," Gwen responded, her accent thick. "What you think?"

"Think about what?" Edna interrupted as she returned to the table with her own drink.

"Nothing," Sybil tried but Gwen spoke over her.

"Think about the Private over there that seems sweet on Sybil. Branson I think is his name, pretty banged up in an ambulance accident if I remember correctly," Gwen prattled on.

Edna turned, her eyes bold as she looked Tom up and down, before turning back to the girls at the table, most now very interested in the conversation. "Seems he's healed up nicely," she purred, here eyes looking directly to Sybil now. "He's nice looking, I'll give him that."

The girls at the table made various noises of approval, prompting Sybil's own cheeks to flush. She'd be lying if she said she never considered Tom's looks: his combed dark blonde hair, his clear blue eyes—even the endearing way one was slightly larger than the other—his strong forearms and broad chest. But she's always tried to keep a distance from those thoughts. When Tom had first arrived at the hospital her heart and mind had been in chaos.

But now he was her husband and she could take in the clean line of his jaw, the small cleft in his chin, the soft feel of his skin, and the smooth welcoming touch of his lips.

She had indeed married a handsome man.

It was that last thought that made her feel bold, empowered.

With a sassy grin, one that earned her several whistles of encouragement from her fellow nurses, she stood, her head high and heart pounding, and purposefully made her way across the room, weaving through the other couples as they twirled and jived about.

He saw her coming now, they all did. Some of the other soldiers she knew from the hospital, men who had been under her care at some point, but tonight wasn't about what the war had done to them, so she ignored them, as if she'd never met them, never saw them at their weakest, her eyes on Tom alone.

"Nurse Crawley," he greeted lazily, garnering poorly hid snickers from his bar mates.

Adopting a haughty eyebrow raise that would have made her sister Mary proud, Sybil silenced their laughter with one glare.

"It's just Sybil tonight Private," she spoke, turning back to Tom. "This is hardly the hospital."

"That's true_ Sybil_," Tom answered. "And it's Tom, not Private. And since we're not, as you so wisely pointed out, at the hospital, perhaps we should dance."

"As long as you think you're up for it _Tom_," Sybil teased, catching the way the other men smiled into their beers.

"Oh I'm plenty up Sybil, I assure you."

The men erupted in hoots as Tom pushed away from the bar, taking her hand to lead her on the dance floor.

"You're awful," she laughed.

Tom gave her a pleased smile, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively before he took her into a dance frame, beginning to sway them side to side as they found the beat of the song.

He leaned forward, his lips close to her ear to ensure she could hear him. "Feeling up to a bit of twirling?"

Sybil nodded feeling an excitement that had been absent from her life the last several months. "I can handle it."

"Good, just don't over do it," he warned.

"Really Branson, I thought I gave the orders."

Tom smirked. "As you said, you're not on duty tonight."

Any chance for a response was lost as Tom pushed her away from him before turning and tugging her back, pinning her against his side before pushing her again to reverse the position.

Sybil loved to dance and soon they had found a comfortable lead and follow, being joined on the floor by their friends who had fallen in behind Tom and Sybil's example. This wasn't the type of dance hall Sybil had grown up around, there was no live band or well dressed waiters ready with champagne, but for the first time in months she felt light, free, and more than her situation. She couldn't imagine what she would be feeling right now if it weren't for Tom. Their situation was far from ideal, but the fear of losing her baby, of being completely cast off from her family, fear of providing for her baby, of still agonizing over the father, all that had weighed her down since she first suspected a new life was growing inside her, was gone. Sybil felt like she had cheated fated, had gained the upper hand, and it left her giddy and drunk.

She couldn't help it, when the their third dance ended, both breathing hard and sweaty, her hands cupped his cheeks and she tugged him down, her bright red lips meeting his, hard and pressing, fast and sloppy.

She felt Tom's surprise, his hands shooting up to her shoulder, his back stiff, but he soon calmed his shock and Sybil felt his breath release in a laugh before he renewed the connection, his own mouth responding with equal fervor.

For a moment they felt as any girl and boy; a flirty attraction, young and fun, free to be playful and a little bit silly.

For a moment.

The pair pulled away, breathing hard, hair damp with sweat, smiles spread wide across their faces causing the skin around their eyes to bunch and wrinkle.

"Shall we get a drink?" Tom practically had to shout, the room now louder than ever as the awkward distance from earlier had been cast out; laughter, voices, music all mixed together.

Sybil nodded, her dry throat desperate for relief.

A small group had formed around the bar, a few knowing smirks forming as Tom and Sybil approached hand in hand.

"Ay, Branson," a young soldier called Samson shouted, "this warm piss ain't cuttin' it. There's a pub still open just down the way; a group of us are headin' down there. You two comin'?"

Tom looked to Sybil.

"I could do with a bit of fresh air," Sybil answered and soon the group, minus a few who decided to stay and dance, was out in the cold dark February air, made more frigid by their damp skin.

They moved slowly, lazily, still smiling and laughing as they stepped through the rubble of the great city, the moonlight bright enough to keep them from tripping. It was eerie to see the city so dark—an effort to confuse the Germans—but there was also something peaceful about the stillness.

"You two were getting awfully cozy," Gwen whispered in Sybil's ear, linking their arms with ease.

Sybil's eyes moved to where Tom was walking a few paces ahead of her, the collar of his coat up to keep his ears warm, his hand buried in his pockets but still moving around as he talked excitedly about something with one of his pals.

Sybil just smiled. Now that they had left the dance hall and some of the adrenalin was waning, she felt the exhaustion beginning to push back in.

"Well go on then," Gwen continued happily, "Tell us."

"Not much to tell," Sybil answered, noting the interested Edna had taken in their conversation once again.

"Sure about that?" Edna asked sweetly, her eyes meeting Sybil's, causing an uncomfortable weight to settle.

Gwen, blissfully unaware of the tension between her two friends, kept the conversation going, chatting away delightedly, teasing Sybil about Tom or talking about the handsome Corporal she'd met or getting Edna to laugh as Gwen impersonated the Head Matron.

They didn't get this enough; being young and carefree.

But in the way a tree grows around a fence, they had learned to adapt, to accept what was happening and to live.

They were nearly to the pub when it started.

The screeching of the sirens caused Sybil to jump, startling her. She felt Gwen pull sharply on her arm, swinging her around as the group began to scramble.

"Where do we go?" Gwen asked, nearly keeping the panic from her voice.

Around them the street came to life, the sound of children crying, being awoken from their sleep as families began the routine of preparing to leave homes in search of safety.

Sybil felt herself be pulled from Gwen, her friend's arm soon replaced with her husband's. His hold on her was strong, his face firm as he looked about.

"There's a tube station 'round here, right?" Tom shouted to his mates.

"Yeah, I'm fairly certain," Sampson answered back even as he looked about, turning in all directions.

"Come on," Edna said. "It's this way."

Tom said nothing, offering no words of comfort or cheer, as he held tight to Sybil's arm, guiding her behind Edna's lead.

"Tom," Sybil hissed, tugging back. "I don't want to lose Gwen."

Tom glanced at her, his gaze hard, an expression she mirrored until his shoulders dropped in concession and the pair stopped long enough for Gwen to catch up.

The darkness, which was meant to keep them safe, now proved almost as much an enemy as the Luftwaffe. It was easier to see the debris when moving at a slow, steady pace, but running made it nearly impossible. The group ran as quickly as they could, but was delayed time and again when someone tripped or fell.

Tom refused to let Sybil hit the ground, resulting in her arm being yanked a few times when either he or she would stumble, but she was grateful nonetheless.

A cry from Gwen brought her short, forcing Tom to stop.

"Blast!" Gwen cried, wincing as she tried to pull herself up.

"Gwen," Sybil called, concern for her friend primary.

"I've got her," Sampson said, pulling Gwen to her feet and taking her weight. "Keep moving"

Tom gave his friend a nod but wasted no more time as he propelled Sybil forward.

The air began to rumble, the sky lighting up as anti-aircraft guns began firing off in the distance.

"It's right up here," Edna shouted over her shoulder, moving impressively in her dance heels.

Sybil was grateful the queue to get into the station wasn't too long, and felt herself relax some when a limping Gwen showed up still leaning heavily against Sampson.

Still Tom refused to let her go, tucking her into his side as they made their way down the steps. It was bright in the Underground, especially to their eyes, which had grown accustom to the darkness, but relatively quiet. It was clear that most of the people down there had already bed down for the night, families that spent every night in the Tube as a precaution, so free space was limited, but Tom managed to maneuver them around until he found a space big enough for them to sit. Not far sat Edna, Gwen and Sampson, the rest of their group dispersing and mixing as they found available space.

Gwen was far enough away that Sybil had to speak up to be heard. "Alright Gwen?"

"Sure, just a twist I think." The redhead called back.

"I'll be the judge of that." Sybil heard Edna say and watched as the fellow nurse tended to Gwen's ankle.

"She's a harsh one," Tom said, there distance proving enough of a buffer that he wasn't heard to anyone but Sybil.

Sybil only shrugged. "She can be a bit intense, but I don't think she's had an easy go of it. She's a good nurse though. Very determined. She's a hard task master, won't accept no for an answer, but it works, it gets the soldiers back on their feet."

A loud booming sounded, one they felt in their bones, and Sybil couldn't help but grip tighter to Tom.

He responded in kind, settling against the hard brick wall, bringing her to sit beside him, fingers entwined as they held hands.

"This didn't turn out quite the way I planned," Tom admitted sadly.

"War has a funny way of messing with things," Sybil answered.

Tom gave a sardonic snort.

Another boom sounded.

Sybil sighed. "Now we wait."

"Now we wait," Tom parroted.

_to be continued..._

**Thanks for reading!**


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